Music has extraordinary power. When I was a child in the 1950s growing up in a small college town there was only one radio station, KWSU. KWSU only played classical music.
Our family had a radio, but no TV in those days, and every evening the bumper music for the nightly news report on KWSU radio was the theme from the third movement of Rimsky-Korsakov’s Scheherazade. Whenever I hear that melody I am immediately transported back to my early childhood. I can smell my mom’s cooking; I can feel the joy, knowing my father was about to come home from work.
I’m something of an evangelist for classical music, since it has brought me so much joy and reward all throughout my life. My piano teacher, Ruby Bailey, with whom I studied from the age of seven through high school (and, actually, beyond), I consider to be my second mother.
I recently had my classical piano albums restored from the original studio-quality master tapes and vinyl pressings, and it’s all free here:
Although I no longer have time to practice the piano many hours a day like I did in my classical concert pianist days, I’m still involved in music, such as this:
And it still brings me so much joy and reward that words are inadequate to describe it.
So how does Darwinism account for this, the extraordinary power of music in all of our lives? Imagine a day, a week, a year, or a lifetime without a note of music. No singing. No musical instruments. No music in the movies you view.
My inference to design does not just come from the scientific evidence, which I consider to be overwhelming. Design screams from every corner of creation, and only the deaf cannot hear it.